The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (159 page)

“I mean it” he laughed, backing into his chair like he was truly afraid of me. “Those are incredible. Where’d you learn to cook like that?”

“Bake” I corrected. “Baking and cooking are two very different things. And I picked up most of it from TV and work.”

“Yeah? Where you work at Jumper? Is it one of those coffee shops where the waitresses wear bikinis? Cause I could definitely see that—”

“Pie in the Sky” I cut him off before he went any further. The last thing I wanted to do was give him another opportunity to make me blush.

“That place on 98
^th
street?”

“Yeah” I looked up and away. What would I do with myself when there were no more cupcakes to ice? How would I avoid looking at him then?

“Tsk, tsk, tsk” William said with a shake of his head. “Here I was hoping it would be at a place called
Sweet Rolls
or
Angel Cakes
.”

My lips smiled even after I told them not to. “
The Cooling Rack
”

William smiled out of the corner of my eye. Did I have enough eggs to start another project, or was I going to have to kick him out when the icing gun was empty? More notably, why did I want William to stay so badly? Did I need someone to talk to? Was I really that desperate? That lonely? Could it even be possible he was that easy to talk to?

Immediately his face turned into a grin. “Hot Crossed Buns”

I came back with: “Cherry on Top”

He snapped his fingers, “Creamy Creations”

It was strange how much I liked laughing with William just then. It wasn’t just the way he leaned forward in my mom’s dining chairs and clutched his stomach, his eyes squinting shut from the effort of laughing. I liked the way laughing with him felt, the way it felt to laugh.

“You are definitely not a one-hit wonder, Jumper.”

I looked away and finished up the icing. Where were the sprinkles? The cookie crumbs? Anything to keep me honed in on the cupcakes...

“So with a wicked sense of humor, a nice house, a job, and wicked baking skills why are you looking to kill yourself so bad?”

That had it. I tossed the icing gun in the sink and turned the hot water on full blast.

“What are you doing here William? Come here for a tearful “thank-you”? A reward? Some reassurance that I won’t try it again? I’m sorry to tell you that you won’t get any of that.” I waved my hand at the tin of cupcakes on the counter. “If you didn’t notice, I’m much too busy for suicide today.”

After watching him rotate his ankles I turned back to the counter just in time to catch the smile in his voice. “No dying when there are treats to be made?”

I smiled as sarcastically as possible. “Exactly.”

“Well that’s good for today Jumper, but you can’t make cupcakes every day.”

“Watch me” I mouthed back to him.

“Sounds good to me, Jumper”

When he started to laugh again I just glared at him.

“Seriously Jumper,” William said once he got his laughter under control. “If I ever want a cooking lesson you’ll definitely be my first call.”

“Baking” I corrected. “
Bak-ing
. And if you’re calling anyone, it should be a girl who buys your crap.”

“Oh,” he said. “Touchy, touchy. I’ll have you know Jumper, that most girls are happy when I show up at their doorstep...more than happy in fact.” He added the last part as if it were an afterthought. Why didn’t it surprise me that he went and made another reference to his sexuality? Was everything sexual innuendo to this guy or did he just get some so often that he didn’t even notice?

“Good for you” My voice instantly resorted to defensiveness. “But if I have to ask you one more time what you’re doing here and you don’t answer, I really will call the police.”

William rolled his eyes, his smile fading for the first real time since he arrived as he went to get something from his pocket. The simple change in his expression my insides clinch much more than I would have anticipated. I shut my eyes, and turned on the faucet to wash the dishes I had created. This guy was only feeding on my loneliness. Using my obvious underbelly to get in my head and take advantage of me in some way, right?

That’s what people do after all. That was all anyone ever did.

“I came to return this. You must have dropped this in my car.”

Attracted to the sound of soft plastic landing on the table, I stared then at the familiar image of myself—slightly younger and freshly freed from braces.

Looking back at my more recent past, I couldn’t remember when I had lost my license. Almost as if by instinct, I flipped the glossy plastic over—it was better to see the checked off box that confirmed my willingness to donate my organs than my own image.

“Right...”

“Is that baker translation for “thank-you”?”

“More like, “why didn’t you just leave it in the mailbox like a normal person?””

William smiled again, a piece of his golden hair falling into his eyes. When was the last time I had made someone light up like that? When was the last time
I
had lit up like that?

“I also figured I’d say “hello”, see how you were doing. You know, like a
normal
person?”

“Okay” I snapped. “Well, you did it, now you can leave.” I didn’t mean a word of it, not a single one. And I was almost certain my eyes were screaming for him to stay. If he saw it or not, remained uncertain.

William leaned back in his chair, his face arrogant and even more attractive for it. If I could have, I would have chided him, yet, not wanting him to know—again anyway—how good looking I thought he was, I kept quiet. Meanwhile, he continued to look at me with an overconfidence that suggested he knew something I did not. “You’re not a big people-person are you, Jumper? Don’t host a lot of guests?”

Smiling, I imitated him sentence for sentence. “You’re not a very smart guy are you William? Don’t take a lot of hints?”

“Yeah all right” he said still smiling and pushing in the chair behind him. “I’ll leave you to bake your sorrows away. But if you need a taste tester, feel free to give me a ring. It’d be nice to hear from you.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath.” I scrubbed hard at dirty mixing bowl in my hands.

He sighed as if bored. “If that’s what it takes to get a call from you...”

“What?” I turned just in time to see him looking at the whiteboard on the fridge. For Dad’s forgetful mind, Mom had scribbled each of our cell phone numbers there with a dry erase marker. And before I could think of something to say or even run to the fridge and wipe the number away William was typing away into his phone, grinning like a madman.

“I have to admit” He mumbled to himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a hard time getting a girl’s number.”

A weird surge of panic and something I couldn’t identify struck me. “You aren’t getting my number.” I fled to the whiteboard but William was already putting his phone away, a grin still firmly planted on his face. “You’re stealing it!”

“Not very “do-gooder” of me is it? But, not only does this make it easy for me to check up on you, but I can invite you to the races too.”

I swallowed my heart back into its proper place. “Races?”

“Yep” William looked up at me through his mess of hair. “There’s one tonight if you’re interested.”

The end of my lips twitched as I took in the memory of our game of chicken with the cops. Even if nothing like that happened again in my life, I was sure the hope of similar might keep me going for years to come.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “It may or may not be fun, but you gotta admit it’s a better alternative to suicide.”

I shook my head. “But not to jail. Not to mention the gruesomely slow death my mom will submit me to if I get arrested.”

“It’s going to be at the Devil’s Promenade—”

I cut him off with an eye roll and the best smart-ass comment I could come up with. “Because that doesn’t sound like a place the police would go to...”

“Like I was
saying
, there’s gonna be lots of cars, booze, girls—do you like girls Jumper?”

“Not as much as you apparently.” I rolled my eyes and shut off the water. If William was wondering why washing dishes by hand when they had already been in the dishwasher he hadn’t asked. I was grateful for it too, since I wasn’t feeling particularly clever enough to lie. Out of dishes now, however, I pretended to look through the cupboards. If I didn’t have to look at William, I reasoned, then maybe I wouldn’t be so easy to read.

“So you’re not into girls?” He stared off at the ceiling as if considering something and went to scratch his imaginary beard. “I don’t know if I’m happy about that or not. Guess it’ll just make my imagination work overtime.”

I opened a cupboard door and pounded my head against it. “You’re an Ass.”

Although I couldn’t see him, I got the sense that William was taking a minute to study the license on the table. I hadn’t bothered to pick it up yet, and now, was beginning to wish I had. It was true that I hadn’t wanted anyone to know I was suicidal until it was too late, but my vanity made me care almost as much that this stranger knew my birthday and weight, my eye and hair color as the fact that I wanted to die.

“And you’re Charlotte Ferro? That’s Italian right?”

I hit myself with the cupboard door again. “Such. An. Ass.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then. You don’t look like a “Charlotte”. Nonetheless—” he looked at the features of my face as if he was trying to figure out something important. I turned away and blushed. “More like a “Jumper” to me, a “Lottie” at best.”

“Will you leave now or do I have to hit you over the head with a rolling pin?”

William smirked and stood up, stretching his arms to make his biceps look long and lean. “Closing in on the stereotypes of your culture? Very nice.”

Smiling now, I pointed to the front door, sure that if he didn’t get out of my house soon I might seriously think about asking him to be there every time I wanted to die. My human antidepressant.

“Get the hell out of here!”

William chuckled softly while I followed him out of the kitchen and into the hall, giving him a shove as hard as I could. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t budge, remaining at the door where I first found him.

“Thanks for the snack, Jumper. I have a new appreciation for the culinary arts—”

“Stop trying to flatter me and get going.”

He stumbled as I shoved him again—this time more successfully past the front steps and out of the house. I slammed the door in his face and listened to him laugh.

“See you soon Jumper—see you real soon!”

I watched from the living room windows as he walked down the front path, stopping at Bloody Mary parked on the side of the curb. See you soon? He couldn’t possibly be serious could he?

And if he was, what would I do then?

Chapter 4

With William gone and no baking supplies left, I sat on Mom’s antique walnut sofa—an item Dad had been forbidden to sit on, let alone nap. Yet without Mom around I could sit on her precious couch without her pitching a fit. It was immature, silly at best, but I think it was mostly my way of rebelling within a safety-zone.

It was like flipping her off when her back was turned.

I sat there for so long, I lost track of the time, listening to the ticking of the wall clock and watching the sun move across the room. The Reiner’s dog yipped and yapped at early evening joggers, and cars honked at kids who slowed traffic with their mischief. Every time one of the skateboarders fell, there was the echoing of swearing and laugher. The mailman came and went. There was the sound of a walker and its elderly owner making its way slowly down the sidewalk, and bike chains dangling as the Masson boys raced each other. I closed my eyes and tried to replace the sound of chains and flipping skateboards with engines—the smell of lemon pledge for diesel.

I had no idea why the memory of the race made my stomach so fuzzy, but only that it did, and once I acknowledged the feeling did I realize that I liked fuzziness very much. Yet my lack of awareness on why I liked it so much added confusion into the equation that I didn’t want to deal with. I had never been one for sports and had definitely not been interested in anything illegal. So why was it exactly I couldn’t stop daydreaming about racing? Was it the speed? The danger? Or was it just that in a lifetime of sitting in the backseat I finally had the opportunity to see through the road for myself?

I had to admit that there was something strangely fascinating about seeing so many people gathered for the sake of cars—a modern machine that I had probably taken advantage of my entire life. Obviously, there were a million a one reasons to love a car, but I couldn’t ever having recalled seeing so many people gathering against society for something as everyday as a car, and it had me wondering about the motivation of those besides myself. Why did they all love it so much? Why did William?

For William, I could have attributed his motivation solely to the affection he received from his female fans. Then again, with the way he looked and his charming manner, I seriously doubted that he needed a gimmick like a nice car to get any woman he wanted. For Mickey and Cosmo, maybe they were just trying to fit in, do what their friends did to be trendy and meet girls. The others however, were a mystery, one that I was genuinely sad I’d never get to discover for myself if I continued ahead with my intended suicide. Before becoming aware of it, I began considering whether or not if I should go to the race—if only to see William again.

I sat up when my leg fell asleep and the sun traveled far enough across the room to blind my eyes. Without intending to, the daydreams had made up my mind for me, the memory of speeding cars inspiring fantasies I knew could never be realities. But, who knew, maybe William was right about this being a better alternative after all.

Keeping that in mind, I made my best attempt to focus on the invitation William had given to me—even if it was a pity one. I had to admit, that it was nice to have something interesting to think about—other than dying anyway. If I was completely honest with myself William was just as responsible for my thinking as the races themselves. Because my mind wasn’t in great shape, I kept them both in my heart for safekeeping, letting them spin round like a car doing donuts.